


Very Good, House

by Amemait



Category: Highlander: The Series, House M.D., Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: GFY, Gen, I needed it for the Science!, Only tangentally Highlander
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:29:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amemait/pseuds/Amemait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson asks an old friend for a favour. House wakes up to find an Immortal by his bed. Jeeves finds himself grateful that this time his employer can’t climb through country mansion windows</p><p>Reposted from FF.N, where I am KnightAmemait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Gin

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to kick things off by pointing out that my parents asked for this crossover. So there's THAT...

Gregory House woke to the sound of eggs cracking in the background, and decided that today was going to be slightly more interesting than the last.

For starters, there was somebody else in his apartment.

"Good morning sir."

For seconds, he had a hangover that spoke of one too many drinks the night before.

He opened his eyes, and glared as the dark-haired person standing at a polite distance from his bed loomed down at him, silver tray in hand and something unidentifiable in a glass resting on said tray.

"Who," he began, his tongue feeling as though 'fuzzy old gym sock' would only be the beginning of a paragraph of description, "the hell are you?"

"Jeeves, sir. Your drink, sir."

House eyed it suspiciously.

"What is that?"

"A beneficial tonic, sir. Something that I felt you would need this fine morning sir."

And because House was still more than a little intoxicated, he drank the stuff.

Around half an hour later, and by some staggering reversal of the natural order, a fully-dressed House limped into the lounge room, cane making semi-rhythmic taps on the ground.

There was the smell of frying eggs in the air, and that same someone –Jeeves, or something – was expertly sliding bacon onto a plate from a frying pan. For reasons that House was still at a loss to fathom, the man was wearing something that looked vaguely reminiscent of an immaculately kept tuxedo under a plain apron.

"Good morning sir."

"Who the hell are you?" House repeated. This morning was getting weirder by the minute.

"Jeeves sir."

"What the hell are you doing in my apartment?"

"Doctor Wilson asked me to come, sir. He seemed to believe that I would be useful to you."

Bloody Wilson. Despite himself though, House was almost impressed. He'd never met anybody who could actually sound as though he were fully pronouncing the word 'Doctor'.

House limped to the table, but didn't sit down. Instead, he leaned forward against his cane expectantly.

"How'd you get in?"

"A key, sir. Doctor Wilson was kind enough to supply me with one."

No, he hadn't been hearing things. Not 'Dr. Wilson', it was definitely 'Doctor Wilson'.

Jeeves, for his part, was mildly surprised that the question he had always been first asked in some form or another – up until this employer – hadn't been yet asked.

"What was that drink you gave me this morning?"

There it was.

"A tonic for taking care of hangovers, sir."

"Yeah? What was in it?"

"Mm, trade secret sir," Jeeves replied, deliberately not tapping the side of his nose conspiratorially.

House sat down.

"You're seriously not going to tell me?" he asked, reaching for his vicodin and blatantly ignoring the look that Jeeves gave him as he tossed it back with the glass of water that was handily already on the table.

"Some secrets are best kept, sir. I wouldn't wish for you to put me out of a trade, sir."

And thus House was introduced to his new valet.


	2. That's the name

"Wilson."

House's voice had a creepy habit of travelling around corners. Wilson stopped, and waited for his friend to catch up.

"Good morning House."

"Who's that Jeeves guy?"

"Why, I'm fine, House, and yourself?"

"Who. Is he?"

"Ah. Of course. Ignoring the pleasantries for the bare necessities of conversation. I should have known."

"You're skirting. Talk."

Wilson barely restrained a sigh.

"He's an old friend of the family, and he's been looking for a job. He's good. Very qualified."

"Yeah? Qualified to do what exactly?"

"He's a valet."

House stopped, blinking.

"Valet? Now, correct me if I'm wrong, which I'm sure I'm not here, but isn't a valet a kind of servant?"

Now Wilson did sigh, rolling his eyes slightly.

"Yes, House. He's a professional manservant."

"What, you think I need one?"

"House-"

Then Wilson's beeper went off.

"We'll finish this later!" House's growling yell echoed down the hall.

-

When House got back, the apartment didn't look any different.

From the outside.

On the inside, however, it was… creepy.

The bookshelves had been dusted, and those books that were scattered across the floor from House's latest shelf-climbing session had been carefully stacked and put away in their appropriate shelves. Books and journals that he was currently reading, though, had been placed on the coffee table, in careful order, and had House been paying any attention to such things, were sorted into different accessibility levels depending on the number of times House was likely to actually reach for one of them in one night.

House didn't notice any of this for the first few minutes. He was too busy noticing that the vomit stain in his favourite carpet had been totally eradicated.

"Jeeves!" and god doesn't that sound weird, House managed to think before the manservant stepped of the only blind spot that the kitchen provided. There was the sound of a refrigerator shutting behind him.

"Ah, sir, there you are. I had been wondering when you were returning, but Doctor Wilson did mention that you occasionally keep somewhat strange hours."

And, yes, there he was, still wearing that tuxedo.

"Yes, well…" House trailed off. "What's that smell?"

"Dinner, sir. I thought perhaps that sir might enjoy a change from the usual microwave suppers that sir has been eating of late."

"Did you now?" House was surprised to find that his voice wasn't doing its usual caustic sarcasm with the words.

"Mm, Doctor Wilson did advise me of sir's penchant for home-made food."

That meant that there was food in the cupboards. Real, actual, food, not just microwavable munchies. House couldn't remember a time – ignoring Wilson's stay, of course – that such things had existed in his cupboards since Stacy had left.

That was… wow.

It wasn't until the following day that House finally noticed that his stash of legal, prescription, not-so-legal, and Whoa Nellie! drugs were missing.


	3. Facts of life

There were some facts of life that House had learned to live with. Third of all, it was evident that he'd never be able to get all of the bookshelves cleaned.  
  
Jeeves, his new valet as sent to him by Wilson, had recently turned this fact on its head.  
  
Number two on the list was that nearly everything hot that he ate at home came to him via the microwave.  
  
This had also been changed.  
  
His number one life fact, however, was the one that was currently of the most importance to him.  
  
"Jeeves!"  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
Tuxedo, check. Drawling British accent, check. Looming in the doorway, check.  
  
"Where the hell have you put my drugs?"  
  
"Drugs, sir?"  
  
"Yes Jeeves. Drugs. Small pills. Some larger pills. Interesting shades of white. Where. Are. My drugs?"  
  
House's eyes were bloodshot, and it wasn't from lack of sleep.  
  
"I thought it advisable that they be out of sight and out of reach from any burglars who might take it upon themselves to divest you of your belongings, and so have taken the liberty of putting them in a safe place, sir."  
  
"Right, fine great, could you give them back now!"  
  
It was beginning to look as though House wasn't going to get his own way.  
  
Jeeves watched House with a blank face. Oh dear, Doctor Wilson's warnings were true. If he had remained a member of the Ganymede Club, then he would have headed up the entry for House, Gregory (M.D.) with red ink.  
  
Then again, if he had remained a member he'd be getting some rather odd looks. One was not expected to be a valet for over 90 years, and still look as though one was somewhere in one's thirties. Somewhere along the line, somebody would look up the old club records and discover that, while a large portion of time was missing from The Book's records, time wasn't missing from his employment records; so him running off and having a family somewhere would have been quite impossible.  
  
"-give them **back now**!"  
  
"Sir, if you would permit me to point out that sir's blazer pocket has inside it an almost-full container of sir's vicodin…"  
  
House blinked, then stomped over to his blazer (hanging up on the door! Coat hanger and everything, and it looked freshly ironed!) to prove Jeeves wrong-  
  
And blinked as his hand collided with an, as it turned out, almost full container of vicodin.  
  
"Now, if sir would like to have his coffee. Shall sir be having French Toast or waffles with sir's bacon this morning?"  
  
"…Waffles…"  
  
"Certainly sir."  
  
"And Jeeves…"  
  
"Yes sir?"  
  
"…Call me House."  
  
"I shall endeavour to remember your preference on the matter, sir."  
  
"House, Jeeves. It's not that difficult."  
  
"No, si-" Jeeves cut himself off, hesitated, and then…  
  
"House."


	4. Musical Momento

There was a piano.  
  
That was the thing that Jeeves had noticed first. All of his best employers had owned a piano. Doctor Wilson had mentioned in passing that Do- that House could play the piano. Jeeves didn't know how well, but the piano boded well.  
  
House was gone for the next few hours at least, and he didn't need to get the shopping done today…  
  
Sliding onto the stool, Jeeves began to play, not really caring about which notes he hit. After a few bars, he blinked, continuing to play, and the barest of smiles crossed his face as memories assailed him.  
  
\--- _Mister Fink-Nottle (pretending to be Mister Wooster) lisping his way through the song, to the wild applause of his audience, as Mister Wooster (pretending to be Mister Fink-Nottle) snuck out of the room to tell Jeeves how wonderfully the plan to publicly humiliate Mister Fink-Nottle (Mister Wooster's good and old friend)_ -  
  
No.  
  
\--- _'…ever-so'_ -  
  
 **No.**  
  
\---' _…when the bell begins to peal?_ '  
  
Enough.  
  
Jeeves pulled away from the ivory keys, pushing the thoughts aside.  
  
Then stopped, staring.  
  
It wasn't the same piano. Not the same maker, not the same design, nothing at all like the one that had been played that time, in one English manor amongst many – too many, they all mingled together now.  
  
But…  
  
It _was_ the same one that had been in the apartment in New York. The small chip on the corner that had been the final straw for Jeeves all those years ago, the chip on the corner that had resulted in the temporary incarceration of Mister Malvern, yes, it was still there.  
  
Do- _House_ probably didn't have a single clue. To him, it was his piano. He was very attached to it – bound to be; the man was certainly a doctor, and by all accounts was a brilliant diagnostician, but he had a musician's hands, not a surgeon's.  
  
Yes. It was _House's_ piano now, not Wooster's'. Not Wooster's _anymore_. But… in a way, it was.  
  
The odds against identical genetics within so few generations were enormous. The odds against reincarnation, however… well, he'd seen plenty of things in his life. And Mister Wooster had certainly enjoyed New York in particular and America in general…  
  
Jeeves cast his eye over the music sheets, and – had he been anybody else – would have groaned.  
  
\---' _I lift up my finger and I say-_ '  
  
…  
  
' _do you feel when you marry your-_ '  
  
Even the music was the same…  
  
The next thing he'd know, Do- _House!_ … would be coming back to the apartment with a white hat.  
  
…  
  
There was washing to do today. Jeeves deliberately _didn't_ sigh as he stood, one hand absently stroking the keys.  
  
Maybe after the washing was done he'd go and find some more music from that era? For House's sake. Not for his own memories. Simply for his employer's enjoyment; for after all, that was precisely what a valet was there to ensure.  
  
-  
  
It wasn't for another three hours that Jeeves realised he'd stopped putting the 'Doctor' in front of 'House'.


End file.
